


Born Ties

by Kca1516



Series: Payment Series [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Derek Hale, BAMF Stiles, F/F, Fluff, Human AU, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mafia AU, Polish Stiles Stilinski, Smut, Violence, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:35:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24246607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kca1516/pseuds/Kca1516
Summary: Derek and Stiles thought it was over.They were wrong.The Polish Mafia has contacted Derek, insisting Stiles is the rightful heir to their throne. They have been searching for him for eleven years after he mysteriously fell off their radar when he was eight, and has eluded them ever since. They have made it very clear that if Stiles is not returned to them repercussions will reign.Derek has never been one to head warnings, but Stiles wants to know the truth.Together, they uncover more then they could have ever imagined.~~~~~~~~~~As the dark closed in around him, Stiles relented. The only reason his sins still plagued him was not because of his horror at what he had done, but his lack thereof.Stiles was a creature of the night, it bowed to him.The boy proclaimed that when he woke the men before him would meet that creature.In doing so they would meet their reckoning.*SEQUEL TO PAYMENT*
Relationships: Allison Argent/Lydia Martin, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes
Series: Payment Series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1750144
Comments: 24
Kudos: 75





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! We are back with the sequel to Payment, Born Ties! Just before we get started there are a few housekeeping things to go over. 
> 
> 1\. We are going to get this ch and the next out within quick succession, but there other wip's we want to finish that we have not been paying attention to bc we were finishing payment. There is one in particular that only has three ch's left that we plan on finishing. After that is finished we will come back to this story with a couple more ch's and update you on when you can expect more content from this book
> 
> 2\. If you have questions about payment/born ties you can always find us on tumblr under the same username kca1516, we post about fics we r working on and more fandom content and we are always happy to answer any questions you may have.
> 
> 3\. This one is kind of just a fun one. In the last few ch's of Payment in the author's notes we were putting theme songs for each ch, we were wondering if you guys were still interested in seeing that. Also we thought it would be fun for you guys to put song recommendations in the comments and then we would feature your recommendations in the next ch and eventually put the full playlist on tumblr like we did with payment. If that seems like something you would want to do sound off in the comments! (if anyone is interested the song for this ch is Can't Take Me from the animated movie Spirit, it's a weird choice I know, but you can't change my mind)
> 
> 4\. As with all out ch's we put out, more editing will come as time goes by
> 
> Now that the authors note is longer then the actual ch, may we introduce you to Born Ties, prologue!

_ To whom it may concern,  _

_ You have something of ours, and it is time it is returned. We have come across an engrossing remnant of information through the winding grapevine of this desolate, slanderous city. Over the course of the past six months, you have come into the possession of a boy with the surname, Stilinski.  _

_ We have reason to suspect this boy is heir to our Krol’s bloodline, and all it stands for. The boy’s full name, his natural name, is Mieczslaw Stilinski.  _

_ It has been corroborated that you have taken it upon yourself to protect this boy, and have proved yourself able to do so. This is the only reason the following information is being divulged to you. When Mieczslaw’s mother was pregnant, she was hidden away in order to insure her, and the coming heir’s, good health. We kept tabs on them until the day a fatal accident left the królewna dead. _

__

_ After the tragedy it was decided to bring the boy back to his true family so he could ascend to his rightful place. However, the boy’s father kidnapped him before he had the chance to be saved. For eleven years we have been searching for the lost boy to no avail. Imagine our surprise to find he had been hiding in our own court for the last handful of months.  _

_ What stroke of luck was it to find him in our borders? Or was it you who hid him from us, too? If this is the case, how long do you think you will be able to keep hiding him from us? _

_ The boy has Polish blood in him; he is a natural born leader. A natural born killer, as Katherine Argent found out, and so many others will. You think you understand him. You think you can tame him. You are woefully naive. Soon he will start to rebel against the restraints you have placed on him, and you will come to realize you didn’t know who you were dealing with at all.  _

_ It is time Mieczslaw knew his true heritage. It is time he harnessed his full potential. He is heir to a waiting throne; his destiny calls. _

_ Who are you, Mr. Hale, to defy destiny?  _

_The Polish_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this ch a break is going to be taken from this book to work on a Stony wip ive been meaning to finish, but after that (which shouldn't take long) more ch's will be added to this
> 
> song for this ch is rolling in the deep by Adele in a flashback to 2014

“Come to bed.”

Kiss swollen lips pressed firmly together. The brush of a tongue, teasing against his own teeth, made him gasp and writhe on the lap he was perched on.

“Are you going to make it worth my time?”

Large hands bruised slender hips where the grip lay possessively. It was to make sure the center of the man’s attention couldn’t squirm away as he rubbed his stubbled jaw against clean, sensitive skin.

Lithe fingers threaded themselves through the Alpha’s hair and tugged. Derek could have protested; he could have made Stiles work for his attention, instead he let his head fall back easily. Derek was rewarded by the glimmer of mischief in whiskey hazed eyes.

“Don’t I always?” Stiles asked. 

The boy was issuing a challenge. 

So much had changed in the past six months.

The scars left from the Argent battle were finally starting to scab over, enough so it didn’t feel like soil was filling their lungs with every inhale of smothering sediment. 

They were no longer buried alive. 

Soon after came the political aftermath that accompanied any waged war. 

There were arguments on what to do with the Argent’s territory now that the clan no longer reigned. 

Chris Argent had already begun rebuilding his crumbled heritage with the help of Allison. Derek had a feeling Chris was trying to give a legacy to Allison, when the time came, so she could be proud of her family beyond the stain of torture and death they left in their wake. However, Danny 

and Ethan were starting to encroach on the Argent territory now that their defenses were weakened. 

The two rivaling gangs looked to The Hale Pack to settle the argument. 

On top of that, Derek was lending aid to Ethan and Danny in order to help them get The Alpha Pack dethroned. 

To Derek’s surprise, it was Stiles who stepped up to the plate to handle the issue. 

After what had happened to the boy, Derek didn’t think he would want any part of leading the Hale Pack. He should have known better than to judge Stiles so quickly. The boy had risen above and beyond what Derek could have ever imagined for him. Stiles inserted himself back into the fray without hesitation. He took Derek’s workload and cut it in half. Lydia even set him up in his own office, and Stiles had joined the mandatory morning training sessions. 

Having learned how to fight dirty on the streets, the pack had taken a great liking to training him. Stiles was stronger now, Derek was addicted to watching him turn into his own weapon of mass destruction. 

Then a letter had ended up on Derek’s doorstep three months ago. 

The letter that may open a door to Stiles’s past that Derek didn’t know if they were ready for. 

The letter Derek had never responded to, and had never given to Stiles. 

He knew where it was now, hidden in a locked drawer in his desk where he hoped the guilt surrounding it wouldn’t burn through its wood prison. Everynight Derek took out that letter and read through it. So much so that the paper had started to crinkle and whither from where he had worn it down with the pad of his thumbs. 

It couldn’t be true. 

The name ‘Stiles’ wasn’t even mentioned in the note, only ‘Stilinski.’ Maybe Stiles had a cousin. Either way, Derek didn’t appreciate the veiled threats made in the note. He was confident that if the Polish came knocking they would be put out of their misery long before they reached Stiles.

Things had finally started to settle down for them; Derek couldn't ruin that now. 

So much had changed, Derek couldn’t deny that, but he would make sure some things never did.

Like Stiles’s whit and, and his honed ability to wield it like doubled blades. 

A slim hand slid up Derek’s torso, already reaching for the first button on the shirt. The Alpha stopped him before he could get much further.

“I can’t,” Derek said.

Stiles deflated against him.

“I know,” the boy replied.

Stiles’s wandering hands came up so he could play with the baby hairs at the nape of Derek’s neck. The mood shifted to the easy trust that would always entwine and connect the two. Derek pressed a soft kiss to the tip of Stiles’s nose.

“Don’t look at me like that, amore,” The Alpha murmured.

Stiles squawked in indignation, “I wasn’t looking at you in any way.”

Derek was only just beginning to resist that look, and Stiles knew it.

“Sure you weren’t,” Derek said, continuing on, “I put off this paperwork for you last night, any later and Kira will have my head. This is my due to her. I have my word to honor.”

The predestined laugh lines around Stiles’s mouth creased.

“You are an honorable man,” Stiles said, almost as if he didn’t think Derek could hear him, “you’ve never let me down before, and I don’t plan on making you break that record now.”

The Alpha’s initial reaction was to protest the statement. 

He had let Stiles down a million times before. The possible what if’s of his near failures haunted his nights. Maybe that’s why Stiles said it to begin with. The boy always knew the perfect time to insert little anecdotes that kept Derek’s demons at bay, even when Derek didn’t know he needed it.

“Sure I have,” Derek untwisted his tongue to say, “but you know if you admitted it, you’d be letting me win. You’re too stubborn for that.”

Stiles attempted to reprimand Derek, but couldn’t stop the huff of laughter that flared from his nostrils. Derek knew how to get him off track, just as Stiles did to him.

“You’re horrible, you know that?” Stiles said with far too much affection to be taken seriously.

The boy cupped Derek’s face and pulled him in innocently.

“Does that mean I win?” Derek murmured against Stiles’s lips.

“No!” Stiles scolded, breaking the moment. 

The boy shimmied himself off Derek’s lap. The Alpha mourned the loss, but appreciated the disheveled view in front of him. He had caused Stiles to look like that, it never failed to amaze him.

“Stop looking so smug,” Stiles said as he righted all of Derek’s hard work, “You’ve won nothing.”

Derek stood from his seat, aiming to pull Stiles back to him before the boy continued preening. 

Stiles went still with anticipation.

“Amore,” Derek said, “I’ve won everything.”

The Alpha knew Stiles read the hidden meaning. Derek had won everything because he had won Stiles. More accurately, Stiles had given himself willingly to Derek and that was the real prize.

“You’re a sap, Derek Hale,” Stiles said as he intertwined their fingers into a knot, “and I, admittingly, need to learn how to start resisting it. As for now I think it’s best I go. You have so much  _ work  _ to get done if I remember correctly.”

Derek smiled at Stiles’s theatrics.

“If you weren’t right, I’d make you pay for that comment,” Derek said.

“Oh really,” Stiles challenged. 

Stiles always knew how to push Derek’s buttons in the best way possible. 

The test was in Derek’s impeccable extent of self control. 

They both knew that tonight’s flirting was just for fun, and wouldn’t lead anywhere. The Alpha was already holding out his arm so Stiles could be escorted out. Stiles looped elbows on instinct.

“What I will do is remember for a later date,” Derek said.

Stiles let out a laugh of fairy dust and road construction. Derek loved everything about it. 

“By that logic, you have a long list of comments to repay me for,” Stiles said. 

The Alpha turned the doorknob.

“Trust me I plan to keep up with that list of offenses for the rest of my life, amore.”

Oddly enough, Stiles paused at the comment. 

His gaze hovered above Derek’s shoulder, like he was seeing something Derek couldn’t. The Alpha knew Stiles had hyper focused on the silent promise Derek had just made. The promise to be at Stiles’s side forever. 

The traumas a promise like that could trigger. 

It was that look that kept Derek from showing Stiles the letter. That look that Derek was trying to preserve, and destroy in equal measure. Stiles was healing, and working through his past. Derek refused to hinder the process.

“I love you,” Derek said, kissing Stiles’s forehead. 

The boy blinked the fog away, and squeezed Derek’s bicep in a silent assurance that he was okay.

“Love you, too,” he said, “don’t stay up too late, I’d like to sleep tonight.”

Derek assured Stiles he’d be up soon, though they both knew not to put too much stock in it. They were both susceptible to losing themselves in their work. 

Derek watched Stiles go.

The Alpha reminded himself that in itself was progress.

Three months ago Derek was still insisting he accompany Stiles everywhere. 

Change was obtainable. 

The Alpha turned back to his empty office, and cracked his neck. He prepared himself for a long night. The paperwork he had told Stiles he had to forward to Kira wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth. He had filed Kira the documents accounting for the war months ago. No, this didn’t have to do with the Argent’s. This was a personal favor. 

Derek wanted information on the Polish Mafia. 

He needed to know more, even though he realized the hypocrisy in it all. Derek had to make sure he could protect Stiles. If he had to go behind Stiles’s back in order to do so, so be it.

The Alpha picked up a pen, and firmly ignored his newfound relationship with guilt.

~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


The sky was an infinite, inky void that Stiles often lost himself in time and time again. 

The night sky had bore witness to all of his sins. 

The night sky had yet to judge him for what it found. 

He was getting better, really he was. 

It was becoming rarer and rarer for Stiles to suddenly wake up with dripping red pearls rolling themselves up his arms and into his mouth to suffocate him. 

It was rarer still to hear the bloody screams play as a musical backing for his nightmares. 

He knew it was only because Derek was there to sleep with him that the night terrors ceased. He knew it was only the Alpha’s presence that chased away his lingering sins. 

Stiles knew that if Derek was aware of the lick of flame that singed the tip of his hair, the hollow of his throat, the nip of his heels, he would blame himself. If Derek knew the true extreme of Stiles’s paranoia, and his thirst to take life, he would blame himself. 

Derek would blame himself for the loss of Stiles’s innocence.

Derek already hung the balance of the world on his shoulders, Stiles wouldn’t let him take on this as well. This was Stiles’s burden to bear. 

A voice in the back of his head rebelled against him. 

Hadn’t he told Derek not to close himself off? Wasn’t it Stiles who made him open up in the first place, and Stiles who preached that Derek needed to learn how to ask for help?

Stiles was becoming a hypocrite.

Then he reminisced about the bruising bags under Derek's eyes, the inescapable exhaustion. Stiles couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad about keeping this one extra burden away from him. 

That's what kept the boy from bed. 

Stiles knew Derek wouldn’t be coming to their room tonight, which meant Stiles wouldn’t be able to sleep. It’s what led him to wander the halls, as he found himself doing so often at night.

At this point he had a preferred path that usually brought him to the roof, where he felt closer to the stars, but tonight he strayed.

Stiles found himself drifting through the corridors. 

His arms stretched out from his side and his fingers brushed along the raised hallway walls. The blotted wallpaper seemed to scream at him.

The boy came to a stop as the tips of his fingers explored, as if reading braille, feeling each bump and divot. A straining creak intercepted his exploring; Stiles jumped. He spun around expecting to see a friendly face about to laugh at his odd, and jumpy behavior. No one was there.

Not wanting to let his mind trick him further, Stiles took down the hall in a hurry, reaching the staircase to the first floor. 

He was adamant in his search for a late night snack from the kitchen, and then he’d be on his way. 

He really ought to get back to the room in case Derek showed up. 

It was as he reached the bottom of the spiral stairs that his hair stood on end, and that bad feeling from earlier blared. 

An unavoidable warning bell.

Stiles knew better than to ignore it. 

The boy all but ran back to the stairs knowing he would never tell anyone about the strangeness of this night, but a shadow caught the corner of his eye. A vicious memory tore at Stiles, he was defenseless against it.

He was running, knowing he had seconds to come up with a plan before she was on him. He longed to make a break for the door and escape onto the crowded streets of New York. But he was no fool. Shadows like wraiths peered in through tinted windows; a pack of starved wolves waited for him if he went that way.

Stiles made a split second decision and ran for the staircase; the first bullet flew.

She was already there...

Stiles was jutted back to the present, a sheen of sweat dampened his brow. 

Just as it had been, figures were standing opposite the door. 

Three outlines, three men. 

They weren’t ringing the doorbell or knocking, just standing there. Stiles was certain they saw him.

They were waiting on him to pluck up the courage to go to them, even though they were the ones on his doorstep. 

That was his pitfall, his achilles heel. 

Stiles could remember the bottled fear Kate had incurred upon him, and he had vowed to never be burdened by such a thing again. 

Stiles took a step forward. 

Let the figures fear him. Stiles wouldn’t be a coward, even if his hunters were a figment of his shambled imagination.

Stiles opened the door.

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


_ As the dark closed in around him, Stiles relented. The only reason his sins still plagued him was not because of his horror at what he had done, but his lack thereof.  _

_ Stiles was a creature of the night, it bowed to him.  _

_ The boy proclaimed that when he woke the men before him would meet that creature. _

_ In doing so they would meet their reckoning. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for leaving comments and kudos! If you are interested you can find us on tumblr @kca1516!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 2 is finally out, as per usual more editing will come with time.
> 
> the song for this ch is gasoline by halsey!

A bitter breeze rattled Stiles’s bones. 

The world was a fog as the boy peaked out through the barrier of his eyelids. A dull pounding accompanied the movement, and he almost slitted them shut. If he hadn’t caught the blurry outline of drooping bouquets of leaves, and the swaying arms of branches, Stiles would have allowed himself to drift off back to sleep.

Now he was wide awake.

Instead of jerking and freaking out as he might have once done, Stiles remained still. He pushed past the pain in his head that was beginning to fade, and expected he had been drugged rather than hit over head. 

He kept his body dangerously still if only to keep his captors from recognizing that he had awoken from his slumber. 

Stiles was able to recall what had happened now that spearing adrenaline forced the murky exhaustion from his person. 

Leading up to his blackout, Stiles had been floating through his home’s hallways. They had been calling to him as he made his way to the kitchen. Only now did he recognize that they had been telling him to turn around before he could make his fatal mistake. 

He never reached his destination. 

Stiles had peered through the clashing crystal architect, that acted as a deformed window, on the door. 

The glass had distorted the bodies of the men waiting for him outside, turning them into faces of those long since past. Stiles had been foolish. Instead of turning to his pack for aid, he had recklessly opened the door knowing he didn’t have a weapon on him to defend himself with. 

Still, pride had called to him. Stiles hadn't wanted to be afraid. 

He hadn’t wanted to call someone else to fight a battle he knew deep inside was his and his alone. 

Maybe...maybe he had wanted to be caught all along. Maybe he needed to prove something to himself. Maybe he had been ignoring his longing for bloodshed for too long. When willing prey was laid in front of him, he was unable to refuse.

What he wanted, what he craved, was to feel the fight in his veins again. 

Stiles swallowed thickly.

Now wasn’t the time to be thinking that way.

Above all else, no matter what, Stiles had to get back to Derek.

The sky was an empty, dark abyss, but the telling sound of the city swirled around him. He hadn’t been taken far. Stiles flexed his wrists. They were bound, as he expected them to be. An unabashed thrill sung down his spine. 

He didn’t want them to make it too easy on him after all. 

But Stiles’s elation was dimmed as he came to realize his feet were free to move. He didn’t know whether to be intrigued by the gesture of faith, or label them as the amateurs they portrayed themselves to be. 

Subtly, Stiles shifted where he lay. The readjustment would be inconspicuous to a passersby, but to the trained eye it was an obvious sign. 

His back dug further into the creaky, old park bench they must have tossed him onto. A muscle spasmed in pain at the awkward position, and Stiles decided he would kill them for that alone.

But there was no exclamation indicating anyone had caught on to Stiles’s awakening. In fact, he would have thought he was alone if it wasn’t for the steady breathing of a person to his right. If Stiles concentrated, he could even feel the radiation of body heat. 

Were his memory to hold up, there should be at least two more accompanying the figure. 

His gaze drifted.

Moonlight illuminated the darkened silhouettes of three men.

“You’re awake,” the man directly in front of Stiles spoke.

His voice was of gravel and age old rasp that encircled Stiles in a web of sarcophagus wrappings. 

Stiles didn’t wait for him to continue.

He had already jumped up and slammed into the shadow man to his left before a weapon could be pulled.

Stiles’s sudden attack caught the man by surprise for only a moment before he was striking back with a vengeance. 

The man kicked out in a direct hit, but Stiles had been expecting something like that. It was easy for him to change his weight, and he swept out of the line of fire before landing gracefully behind his opponent. 

Conveniently dodging an attack that was coming from the other direction. 

The man’s jacket flared up as he ran into his accomplice, a flair of silver caught Stiles’s eye. 

A fist shot out and clipped Stiles’s chin before he could dodge it completely. His fault for getting distracted. 

Granted, it would be a lot easier to strike back with the use of his hands, but he couldn’t get everything he wanted all the time. Nonetheless, Stiles continued to sidestep the two men’s attacks as their offense never dwindled. 

A laugh almost bubbled from Stiles’s throat as his opponent’s frustrations grew. He was goading them, after all. 

It was only when the three fell into a rhythm that Stiles changed course. Instead of ducking at a blow aimed at his head, Stiles knocked the punch to the side with his bound arms before fisting his hands together and swinging back. He heard the satisfying crunch of bone slotting out of place as the man’s blood sprayed from his mouth, speckling Stiles’s face in drops of crimson.

“The harder they fall,” Stiles said, loud enough for only him to hear.

The man had been forced to bow out of place, but Stiles wasn’t done yet. 

The accomplice took his place with a vengeance. 

With renewed vigor, blows came down on Stiles that he could barely block. He was being pushed back quicker then he could gain footing. 

Elation coated Stiles’s tongue as a strike fell on the previous hit that had knocked Stiles’s jaw. He spat red, but didn’t let the pain divert him.

Taking a risk as a final punch reigned down, Stiles just managed to catch the man’s wrist under the bonds that tied his own arms together. Slotting the man’s hand in place, Stiles turned. Using the momentum, he flung the man over his shoulder so he went flying down onto the concrete.

“I’d say you deserved that,” he said. 

Stiles backed away from the groaning men he had left to writhe on the curb. His chest rose and fell rapidly, but it wasn’t entirely from the exertion of the fight. He hated to admit it, but the last time he had felt this alive brains had sprayed on the wall. He was deranged, he was disgusting, but he was alive and didn’t that count for something?

Stiles continued to back up. 

Now that he had scratched an itch, all he wanted was to go home. 

The one drug that always outweighed the exhilaration of breaking someone down to bone dust was his addiction to Derek Hale. 

But he had counted his win too early, he had forgotten there weren’t only two men who had captured him that evening.

Stiles stepped back into the click of a loaded gun. A metal pipe pressed into the back of his head.

His breath hitched, but he let it out in a slow exhale. His body was forced to go lax with defeat.

Stiles’s teeth ground against each other. His fallen foes were pulled back to their feet as if marianettes pulled by their wires.

“Alright, spoke too soon. That’s on me,” Stiles muttered to himself.

_ I’ll be home soon Derek, don’t worry _ , he sent out a silent promise to the man who probably didn’t even know he was missing. 

Stiles knew, should Derek find him missing, it would set the man back at least four months. Stiles wouldn't be able to leave Derek’s side, nevermind their bedroom, until Derek felt secure again. The idea of his partner feeling inept in any way sent fury rolling in his veins. 

Stiles refused to let it get that far.

The man who held the gun to Stiles’s head was the one who had noticed Stiles was awake earlier in their encounter. 

He was their leader. 

The man had inched closer so his breath tickled the hairs on the back of Stiles’s neck. Smoke and copper encompassed the man, and Stiles’s nose twitched in the effort to stop from sneezing. It kind of dampened the man’s allure of danger despite the obvious threat he still posed. 

Stiles couldn’t deny the curiosity creeping up on him.

“I’m bound and cornered. There’s nowhere I can go. You can take the gun away. I’m assuming that you want to talk, right? If you didn’t, I’m guessing a bullet would probably have made a home in my skull by now.”

Silence greeted Stiles. The two guards looked to their leader to make the decision. They seemed to be caught off guard, not just by Stiles’s abilities, but by his sheer gall. 

In answer, the barrel was finally pulled back from Stiles’s head. 

“You make it very tempting,” the voice wrasped.

Stiles finally let go of the cold laugh that had been building up in his throat since the beginning of this all.

“You wouldn’t be the first to have thought so,” Stiles said as he took a step forward.

Immediately, three clicks sounded. 

“Relax, boys,” Stiles said.

Not paying them any mind, Stiles plopped himself back on the bench he had awoken on. 

“If we’re going to be here a while, I’m going to be taking a seat.”

Stiles crossed his legs, his hands falling behind the crook of his knee. His companions' bewilderment only proved to satisfy.

The leader took a moment to step out of the shadows, and into a spot of yellow street light.

For the first time, Stiles was able to take him in properly.

A worn trench coat wrapped like a protective shield around his frame, hiding the skin that seemed to be molding and grey. His hair hung raggedy across his forehead, trying to mask a thin, needle like scar that ran the expanse of a face that would otherwise be considered attractive. If you were into the thin, sickly type, which Stiles was quite obviously not. 

The leader’s hands were swathed in black leathers, as his calloused fingers never loosened the grip on the gun that sat securely in his grip.

Stiles recognized him.

Though he had never met the man, he possessed the same fire that Stiles had seen in Kate.

In Derek.

In himself. 

The time for games were over.

That was all their previous sparring had been, a game. Stiles had known it from the beginning. His captors were testing him the same way he had tested them.

Now they were trying to figure out if he had held back the same way they had.

“What do you want?” Stiles said, no longer a boyish hint of humor to his voice.

“What do you know?” one of the lackeys replied, the one with the swollen jaw. 

Stiles’s gaze slid over to the man, but he denied an answer. He was a leader to the Hale Pack Mafia; Stiles moved his gaze to the only one here worthy of his response.

“What do you want?” he asked again, this time his intent was focused on only one.

A grim smile followed the statement, a flash of pale blue eyes chilled Stiles.

“They did warn us you were too brash for your own good,” the man ground out, though Stiles was beginning to expect that was his normal voice.

Stiles rolled his eyes in clear disdain, and slipped into a more comfortable skin. 

Another negotiation at another table came to mind. 

“Charming, too,” he said, “but you’re not getting anything out of me until you give me something first.”

“We could torture it out of you.”

“It would take you more time than you have.”

With a sudden rush, the man had lunged forward. His hands braced the back of the bench Stiles had seated himself on like a throne. 

A King holding court. 

The man’s deadened face crept closer to Stiles’s own. Though Stiles knew he should have been intimidated with the way the man’s sneer revealed his whittled down teeth, all he realized was that he had been wrong. The man's eyes weren’t blue. They were grey. Grey as swirling, calculating storm clouds. Grey as the fallen ash of filleted flesh. 

“Who the hell are you,” Stiles said, unafflicted. 

He wasn’t scared. 

He didn’t think he would ever feel fear again; he wouldn’t let himself. It was the only thing that seemed to surprise the man before him.

“You really don’t know, do you.” 

The grey molt pulled back, and sharp inhales followed from his two lackey’s.

Stiles was beginning to think he really didn’t know what was going on, and that could prove disastrous. 

“You have no idea what I know.”

The boy hid behind a veil of cryptic threads bonded together with nothing more than a cool facade, but things were heating up. Soon enough strings would fall away useless, revealing the truth, and then Stiles would be in trouble. 

His shield frayed too quickly.

The enemy’s shoulders began to tremble, a creaking howl released from the depths of his core.

The dead man was laughing. 

“Did you really never get the letter?” the second lackey spoke up, diverting Stiles’s attention.

Stiles was surprised to find the sudden earnest shock on the bastards’s face. 

“What letter,” Stiles questioned. 

He hated how the leader had turned from him,  _ laughing _ at him.

Stiles had been tested, and he had failed.

The lackey shook his head, as if it wasn’t his place to say. Instead, he bowed his respect. His accomplice joined him. 

What the hell was going on.

“Answer me you bastard,” Stiles said, his hands falling still in his lap, shouting at the man who had yet to deem him worthy of an answer. 

He didn’t care that it sounded desperate; it was the least of his worries. 

“Answer me-” Stiles’s enraged shout was cut off.

“What’s your name!” the man said.

His back was still to Stiles, but it was no question who he was talking to. 

“What,” Stiles said more to himself then anything.

All he knew was that he had to get home. 

He was beginning to understand these people weren’t just looking for money or a way to get at Derek. They were fully deranged, entirely insane.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

The thought that Derek had yet to figure out Stiles was missing sat uneasily in his chest. 

“What is your name? Your last name. What. Is. It.”

The man spun to face Stiles. Finally. Stiles had almost started to think he was a coward.

There was a moment between one breath and the next when the world and its time was suspended. Stiles almost considered not answering. It felt so much like admitting defeat, but even he had to admit that he was in too deep. 

He had been forced onto a journey he had never meant to start in the first place. 

“Stilisnki…” he seethed.

“What was that?” the man said, goading Stiles. 

There was craze to his words, an unhinged insanity that Stiles….that Stiles was able to recognize in himself.

“Stilinski, my name is Stiles Stilinski,” he growled, refusing to be pushed down in this fight.

“Exactly,” the man shouted, lamenting at Stiles, “and you don't even know what that means.”

An invisible punch socked Stiles in the gut, stealing the breath from his lungs. 

“You don’t even know your own birthright, but he wants you anyway…”

The last part was spoken like Stiles wasn’t supposed to hear, like it was treasonous to be saying in the first place. 

Stiles tucked that information away in hopes to make sense of the happenings in front of him. 

It became imperative that the man spill every last drop of the truth until he was left a wakless husk.

“My name is Rhys. You,  Mieczyslaw  Stilisnki, are heir to The Polish Mafia. You are Heir to the most powerful family in this country. A group whose hold spans more than just this continent, and they need you to come home. You can’t run away from your destiny forever. The Polish Mafia is calling back what belongs to them. It was all in the letter, a letter you clearly never got.”

In a different world, lighting would have flashed above them as information speared Stiles’s ears until its sharp tips burst his brain, leaving him to bleed out. Rain would come pelting down, soaking him in a new layer of skin that represented this sudden reveal. Stiles would gasp as an inkling that had been hidden away inside of him had just been confirmed.

As it was, Stiles was not impressed.

“Oh, so you’re crazy? Got it,” Stiles said.

His thumb moved steadily against the bonds that held him. 

The two lackey’s looked helplessly at their leader, as they most certainly did not expect Stiles to so easily refute this secret once he learned it. Rhys’s features did seem to pinch in frustration, but it was clear he wasn’t giving up.

“A letter was sent to your house four months ago, three months after you had proved yourself capable with the fight against the Argents. We had gathered intel that you would be out with your partner, Derek Hale, leader of the Hale Pack Mafia. It was the first time your guard had been down since you almost died, and we knew we had to take advantage of it. We slipped in when you slipped out, and deposited a letter that would reveal the truth. Then we left, as a sign of goodwill. It’s clear to us now that goodwill wasn’t mutual. Who do you think found that letter,  Mieczyslaw ?”

Stiles had gone a shade of pale he didn’t know possible. 

He remembered that night well. 

He remembered how the stars had shone, like the twin sparks in his and Derek’s eyes. It might have been the first night Stiles could remember feeling carefree, with not a sadness to weigh him down. 

It had marked a new beginning. 

Stiles also remembered the change in Derek’s behavior when they had gotten home. How he had cut himself off so suddenly, and told Stiles he had to be called away for a few minutes. Derek had come to bed soon after, but the moment had imprinted on Stiles’s memory nonetheless. 

Could Derek’s actions have been due to this letter that had apparently come that night?

Stiles refused to believe it.

But even if Derek hadn’t noticed the letter that night, the mail was always delivered to him first. 

Somehow, Rhys seemed to know that, too.

“Don’t call me  Mieczyslaw ,” Stiles said, but was rufetly ignored. 

Little by little he was growing smaller and smaller.

“When no response came from that letter, we were ordered to take the next step. The King, your grandfather-”

“My grandfather died when I was six,” Stiles countered, furious at the lies the man expected him to believe.

“Your father's father, yes. But didn’t you ever wonder about your grandfather on your mother’s side?”

That was Stiles’s breaking point. The one that firmly snapped him out of the wild tale Rhys had caught him up in. He was not an instrument to be tuned and played until he was tightened to sing melodies of wonder. He would not be fooled by these men, no matter where they came from or who they said they were.

“Enough,” Stiles ground out, feeling his soul tether back to his body.

A strength radiated from him that was still young, and new, and untamable. 

While he was not some heir to inherit a kingdom, as they claimed, he was the leader of the most notorious, feared mafia in the country and beyond. 

He would be treated as such.

Rhys fell quiet. As if he had never met someone who could break out of his manipulations so easily. Another indicator that he was lying.

No letter had come, no one had slipped into his home, and despite what Rhys knew about the date that night, his story was based in lies.

Maybe the most obvious reason none of this was real, Derek would never hide something like this from him. They were equals.

“I’ve heard enough.” 

Stiles rose like the son of the Devil himself. 

His bonds fell from his wrists in ribbons. A stolen blade shimmered in the moonlight as it danced along his knuckles.

He sent a wink towards the first lackey who looked all too pale as it was his own weapon that now lay in Stiles’s grasp. 

Rhys glared furiously at his men. 

“Now, I think it’s time you learned who it was you were really speaking to.”

Stiles took the damning step forward into his beloved chaos. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always welcome, and you can find us on tumblr at kca1516!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was edited in a hurry, but I just wanted to put more content out there. As always, more editing will come as the story progresses
> 
> the song for this ch is Love Songs Drug Songs by X Ambassadors 
> 
> *also id like to make it clear that stiles and derek's relationship is not supposed to be a healthy one and we are specifically writing it in a way where that is so (they r still endgame dont worry) overall if the last story in this series had to do with them ending up in a "normal relationship" with each other despite their circumstances this story is about how they both devolve into what lies beneath that and what draws them to each other which is the same underlying insanity (literally they r just sadistic mafia men who love eachother, and they like it that way, they just have to figure it out first) so if anyone wants me to add "toxic relationship" or "unhealthy co-dependency" to the tags im open to it should ppl find it needed

Stiles returned to his home to find his family preparing for a war that had long since been fought.

Beaten and bruised, splotches of blood seeped into his shirt from where he had been nicked with lucky blades, and clipped by a ring of knuckles that indented in his skin like a crown. Stiles’s muscles ached with a pleasant soreness he knew he had earned. Despite the damage that had been done unto him, he had made sure his enemies wouldn’t forget his name anytime soon.

That reminder, that comfort, was why Stiles found himself grinding his teeth as if shaving them down to stumps.

Stiles’s family was arming themselves as if they had already given up hope that their missing leader was even alive. 

It was humiliating. 

It was  _ degrading. _

The burning that had been kindling inside him ever since he woke up in the park began to melt a hole through the fleshy lining of his stomach.

They hadn’t noticed when Stiles had come through the door. Slipping into their midst without detection, he leaned casually against the wall like a motionless sculpture crafted out of aged marble. 

Erica was arming herself with throwing knives, her darkest red lipstick painted on her lips in a promise of the bloodshed she sought to derive. Isaac worked next to her, fitting a black mask across his face so his cutting blue eyes were the last things his victims saw. Allison busied herself with securing her hair in a top knot, her favorite guns loaded around her hips. 

Stiles hated that he resented them for it.

That was where the problem had started. The more he had silently suffered against their pitying stares meant he had only himself to blame.

He regretted not dragging the unconscious bodies of his captors back with him, carved up like spindly roads on a map. Stiles imagined dumping the corpses at his family’s feet, giddy as they took him in with a proud horror.

Stiles wasn’t the same as he had once been; he thought they had known that. 

He realized now how ignorant they had been kept, and that he was not found innocent in that sin. Stiles had longed for things to go back to normal after the Argent affair, and had been happy to sit idly in his fragility. He had let Derek’s guiding hand keep from shedding his skin, and evolving into who had always been hiding under the surface.

He had sunk into the familiarity of Derek’s manipulations, and had turned away from what he did not want to see. 

But if Stiles lingered in the wild winds of the storm, Derek Hale was found at its center. 

Stiles amended his analysis, it wasn’t his family that thought him weak. He saw it now more than ever, it was Derek who had kept Stiles a husk of who he could truly be. 

A blade sliced through Stiles, cutting into the dry, textured scars that had kept his old, aching wounds closed and healed.

Stiles wanted to scream.

Everytime he thought they had fixed things, addressed their issues, he was proven wrong. 

He was  _ always proven wrong. _

Derek Hale was a liar. He was a selfish bastard who had been toying with Stiles for months. 

Rhys had made that perfectly clear. 

Not for the first time, Stiles wanted to hurt Derek. He wanted to etch into Derek the cruelties Stiles was forced to endure every time he stumbled upon another secret the Alpha had thought him not strong enough to bear. Stiles wanted to shatter his bones and slash his skin into ribbons while he screamed Stiles’s name the way he did every night. 

He wanted to hurt Derek.

He wanted to fuck Derek.

He wanted to hate Derek, but knew he was damned to love the man until the day he died. 

The lines blurred until they were one and the same, it was why this would always hurt just as much every time it happened.

“Stiles,” Derek breathed.

The Alpha had finally locked eyes on his partner.

The world blurred around the man as Stiles’s world view narrowed, as it always would. 

Derek raced towards him. 

Stiles didn’t know if even now he could reject it as arms embraced him before he had the chance to. 

Derek’s fighting leathers and bandaged hands rubbed raw against the sliver of skin exposed by Stiles’s loose shirt that had bunched up under Derek’s hold. The Alpha buried his face into Stiles’s shoulder, unable to say a word as relief weakened him. 

Stiles wanted to take that relief and crush it. 

He firmly lay his hands on Derek’s chest, knowing the line he was about to cross, the fight he was about to start, as he resolutely pushed the man away. 

They hadn’t really fought since before the Argent battle. After what they had been through, it hadn’t been worth it. Not when they knew what it was like to lose the other. Instead they had chosen to be happy, safe, and enraptured in each other. 

Looking back now, Stiles wondered how much of that was true and how much had been as much of a lie as Derek’s deceit. 

Had it all been a facade in order to keep the peace? Had they simply been lying to themselves the entire time?

Stiles’s heart beat rapidly in his chest, had they ever really been happy together at all?

Stiles had been. 

He had been in love; he still was, but he had fooled himself into thinking he wasn’t in love with a monster. 

That had been his fatal mistake.

Taking Stiles’s need for space in good faith, Derek stepped back. He didn’t want to crowd Stiles so soon after returning, but couldn’t stop himself from letting his hands come to cup his lover’s cheeks. 

“What happened,” Derek asked, worry warped his handsome features, “when I went to bed last night you were gone. I didn’t think much of it at first, but when I checked your usual spots I couldn't find you.”

Stiles hated the pain he had caused Derek, even now. 

It was a reassurance. 

It meant that all the work they had put into their relationship hadn’t been for nothing, it hadn’t been the facade he was afraid it was. Derek had been trying the same Stiles had, and now he didn’t know if it hurt less or more to realize that it hadn’t been enough.

Stiles still hadn’t said anything. Normally he would have tried to console his partner, but he didn’t know what would come out of his mouth if he opened it now.

Again, Derek misconstrued his silence.

The mafia boss grabbed Stiles’s chin, turning his head so as to shed more light on the forming bruise on his partner’s cheekbone. Purple, and black, and swollen. Stiles clenched his hands into shaking fists. He didn’t remember how he got it, or at what point during the fight that he had been hit. He did know, however, that he wanted to paint a similar blemish on Derek’s face.

“What the hell happened,” Derek growled now, his grip tightening in his anger.

Stiles welcomed it for all the wrong reasons.

His focus shifted to his friends behind Derek. They too were shifting uneasily as they all wanted to rush him, and check him over until they were blue in the face. 

They knew to wait until Derek was done, a continued sign of Stiles’s own weakness. 

His paranoia only made him spiral.

Had they known? 

Boyd, Lydia, Scott, and the rest of them who all stood there looking at Stiles like he was a helpless child. Had they known about the letter all along? Had Derek gone to them with it before he ever talked to Stiles? Had they all collectively decided it was too much for him to handle?

Stiles ripped his scrutiny away before he did something reckless like prove them correct. 

He looked back to the welcoming richness of the eyes he had made the mistake of trusting.

Stiles viciously slapped Derek’s hand away.

There was no turning back now. 

Derek’s shoulders tensed, narrowing his gaze at his partner. He was trying to get Stiles to speak, open up, asking the silent question of what was wrong. They were adults, they could work out their problems without resorting to petty bickering. 

They were also bastards, and had been suppressing that fact for too long.

“I’ll be waiting in your office,” Stiles said, uncompromising as he walked past Derek to the staircase, not bothering to brush shoulders as they passed.

The Alpha’s hand shot out and grabbed Stiles’s bicep in a hard grip before he got too far. Stiles swallowed an enraged growl. He could feel Derek’s frustrations through the heat of the grip singing his clothes. No, he wasn’t going to let Derek take control of this moment. He had bent to the man’s will time and time again, giving him a fair footing in whatever interpersonal battles they partook in. Not now, not here.

“What is going on,” Derek said, and Stiles commended that he was trying to keep this civil.

“Talk to me,” the Alpha pleaded silently. 

Stiles didn’t want civility, he didn’t know why he ever did.

What he truly desired was chaos.

Stiles turned back around and punched Derek in the jaw. 

In his shock the Alpha let his hold on his partner drop, letting Stiles slip away easily as he cradled his swollen cheekbone. Blood swelling under his hand in the same place he had been caressing the bruise on Stiles’s own.

The boy had been right, it did feel good to return the pain.

~~~~~~~~~~

Stiles overturned Derek’s office as he waited for the man to build up the courage to finally show his face.

All of the drawers in the Alpha’s desk had been disheveled and pulled out. They were dangling on the precarious edge that kept them from spilling splinters to the floor. It didn’t matter much anyway as the only thing Stiles cared about were their contents. Papers he knew were probably important he left crumpled on the floor. He didn’t care about incoming shipment, communications with allies, or the bills that were sent to Derek that were no more than a facade.

It wasn’t until he reached the final drawer that, underneath all the bookkeeping garble, an envelope lay. 

An envelope turned yellow from dust mights and time away from the light. How often had Derek looked at it? How often had he read over the letter that lay inside and then gone to fall asleep next to Stiles not hours later?

Sprawled in a crawling cursive, the letters of his last name.

_ Stilinski _ .

With shaking hands Stiles reached for the envelope, barely able to caress the paper. 

He doubted.

He doubted that this was real. He doubted that anything Rhys had said could be taken as truth. Most of all, he doubted that Derek would have lied to him like this.

That’s why this hurt so damn much.

Stiles let the truth fade to his subconscious before snatching the letter from its resting spot, and forcing his blurred vision to focus.

That was how Derek found him a few minutes later, standing like the cracks of a tree struck by lightning as he obsessively read the letter over and over again. 

Derek hadn’t let himself entertain the thought that Stiles had found the letter when he realized his lover was missing. But as soon as Stiles had pushed away his touch in the lobby, he had known the truth whether he wanted to admit it to himself or not. 

“How long have you had this,” Stiles seethed, shaking with shock.

He knew the moment Derek had entered the room despite the man not making a sound. 

The way Stiles tripped over his words, Derek could tell he was breaking. 

That was the problem with fighting with each other; they could read one another too well.

Once they had raged recklessly as parallel, polar magnets, aching to hurt the other, now everything had changed irrevocably. Even in Derek’s rage, he wanted to defend himself despite how he knew he was in the wrong, he was overwhelmed with knowing the last thing he wanted to do was hurt Stiles. 

“Why,” a dry sob escaped through the word, though Stiles pushed through it, “didn't you tell me.”

Derek didn’t have the right answer, but Stiles had asked a trick question.

“ _ Why! _ ”

Stiles screamed.

“Did you think I was that  _ fucking  _ weak that I couldn’t handle this?” Stiles asked, “Did you think that I wouldn’t want to know this? That it would be too much for me? Did you think you had the right to keep this from me? I just need to know what went through your head, what excuse was good enough to convince you to lie to me like this.”

As usual, Derek was at a loss for words where Stiles was brimming with them.

“Do you know how much I give a  _ shit  _ about the contents of this letter?”

Stiles shook the paper, or his hand was just shaking that hard, Derek didn’t know. The Alpha’s eyes were glued to the note in Stiles’s hand, guilt inescapable.

It wasn’t what the boy wanted. 

Viciously and without care, Stiles tore the piece of paper in half and balled the shreds in his hands. 

He needed Derek to  _ look at him, goddamnit.  _

“That is how much I would have cared,” Stiles said, far too calmly, “You had me so entirely, this letter wouldn't have changed that.”

“I didn’t want to lose you,” Derek finally said, the only thing he could think of.

It's what had stemmed his fear from the beginning, the thought that he could lose Stiles to his birthright. 

Derek was his birthright, not a crown too constricting for his head.

“I  _ don’t  _ want to lose you,” Derek said again, he didn’t know what to do to fix this.

Stiles moved out from behind the desk, steps bringing him to Derek. The Alpha twisted his head away, unable to face Stiles’s rage. 

He couldn’t bear to see the hatred turned towards him.

He didn’t deny he only had himself to blame. 

A slim hand gripped Derek’s chin, the pad of Stiles’s thumb ran tenderly along the line of his jaw as he gently coaxed Derek to look at him. It would never take long, Derek was gone for Stiles in every sense of the word.

Stiles owned Derek, always.

“Why should I care what you want.”

Stiles’s words cracked down like the sting of a whip.

“You sure as hell couldn’t return the favor.”

“Stiles-” Derek pleaded, but was cut off as Stiles covered Derek’s lips with his own. 

The Alpha was weak. 

His hands came to grip the boy’s hips like the brand it was, pressing their bodies together as he conveyed all his love and sorrow to the other. He knew they could fight through this, he had made worse mistakes in the past that they had come back from stronger for it. 

He was genuinely truly sorry, now that he was on the other side he could see how selfish he had been. He just needed Stiles to realize he now understood his mistake.

He would get better. He had been learning and trying to be better for Stiles; this was just another bump in the road. 

If recovery started with Stiles only wanting to use him for his body, so be it. Derek would become just that, just a body for him to use and discard as he pleased. If that’s what Stiles wanted, he would give it without a second thought. He would give anything that the boy asked for. 

When breath became too scarce for both of them, Stiles pulled away. 

Derek chased after him, but Stiles had made his final request. 

“I thought we were finally equals,” Stiles murmured against the stubble on the man’s cheek.

Like a shadow chased away by the light, the boy then slipped away like he had never been there to begin with.

The Alpha was left cold and empty as Stiles’s words haunted the space he had once occupied. 

The door clicked closed behind him.

Derek crumpled to the floor.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and sticking with us, hope you enjoyed :)

**Author's Note:**

> Polish Translation as of google translate:
> 
> Krol: King
> 
> Królewna: Princess/King's daughter
> 
> Also, for now there it says there are 18 ch's but there will be more we haven't fully fleshed them out enough to know for certain!
> 
> edited: 5/19/20
> 
> As always, thanks for comments and kudos!


End file.
